


three a.m., you wanna vibe

by orphan_account



Series: join the party for the recently blind [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: AH YES, Gay, M/M, Yeah probably - Freeform, author hasn't slept since 1456, bam has a cameo, because platonic markbam >>, celebrities in love au, i wrote something that WASN'T a spy/heist au, long distance ??, lots of internal monologuing, the audience (me) asked for markbeom, the author (also me) delivered, what's the word again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mark’s never been a sucker for this love bullshit, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say that Jaebeom makes him want to try it.





	three a.m., you wanna vibe

The first person Mark calls when he lands in Korea is Jinyoung. They idly chat while Mark is at baggage claim about meeting up after Mark’s done shooting, Jinyoung sounding worse for wear and Mark trying not to yawn too much in between. Youngjae’s well, Jinyoung’s fine,  _ they’re  _ good, they’re excited to see him soon, and Mark lets Jinyoung mumble about good sashimi places before telling him to sleep and call later. It’s always nice to be back in Seoul, if only for Jinyoung, who’s always terribly excited to meet him.

The next person he calls is Jaebeom, obviously.

He has to squint in the car while looking for his number and discreetly hides the phone screen from Bambam when it comes up on the list. (He doesn’t like answering to anyone about Jaebeom. Not even Bambam, his best friend of nearly six years.) The call goes straight to voicemail. The automated message sounds bored, Jaebeom’s voice sounding like he’d recorded it minutes after he’d woken up. The way he says his own name is the last thing Mark should find attractive about him, but he makes a note of it in his mind anyway.

_ Things I like about Jaebeom,  _ he thinks, closing his eyes.  _ He sleeps with enough space for Nora even if he bitches about cat fur on his bed. He listens to slow love songs while doing the dishes and cleaning his house but listens to the Fast and Furious soundtrack when he’s working on one of his reports. He sloppily paints his own nails when he feels like he needs a change of pace. He’s tall enough to lift Mark and spin him around when they hug after a long time. His smile is nice, always. He says his own name like he’s telling a secret. _

“You’re smiling again,” Bambam says. He’s tired, eyes puffy and lips turned down into a frown. “Tell me, I want to smile too.”

Mark thinks of the mismatched throw pillows on Jaebeom’s couch, the sheets and the duvet that never complimented each other on his bed, the assortment of trinkets he’d gotten from his tours arranged in order of size on his mantlepiece, the books arranged alphabetically on the bookshelf in his room, the cats strutting around his house and him watching them fondly from the counter while they wrecked havoc. He thinks of the wine stained carpet and the peeling paint in the studio corner and the sticky notes stuck on the fridge and the boat shaped magnets everywhere.

He thinks of the last time he’d stayed at Jaebeom’s, a couple of months ago on a cold Sunday night. The rain against the glass windows, the cats somewhere on the floor. (Mark had always liked dogs more, even if Jaebeom liked to say he had six cats instead of five whenever Mark was around.) The dim lights in the living room contrasting against the baby blue of Jaebeom’s sweater. The sound of his heart beating a little louder than usual.

(He’d been humming when Mark had pulled him closer to rest his head on his chest. The melody was disjointed but nice. It reminded Mark oddly of waves on the beach at night, of the wind in his hair through an open window on a car, of the blinking city lights through a glass window. He didn’t know if it was a sketch for a song or one of the old ones. To him, everything sounded new when Jaebeom sang it.)

He thinks of Jaebeom and the shy smile on his lips whenever Mark looked at him, always a little awkward and a little clumsy and a little out of depth when it comes to Mark, and smiles some more.

“Nothing,” he says, and leans his head against the tinted window. “It’s nothing, Bam.”

He says that, but his heart flutters like the golden snitch in an open field, free and fleeting all at once, when the phone in his hand rings.

  
Mark’s never been a sucker for this love bullshit, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say that Jaebeom makes him  _ want  _ to try it. 


End file.
